Going Home
by Ms Western Ink
Summary: He'd broken her heart and she left him. Now, years later, Aoshi is still searching for home. Rated conservatively.


**Going Home**

**1 of 1 **

* * *

_"Where are the kids?"_

Aoshi looked up as a man stepped into the local inn, addressing his wife who was seated across from the door on the opposite side of the small room.

"Oh, they're up at old Misao's place I think. Why?"

The man yawned. "Just curious. They aren't making all the noise they usually do. I'm heading to bed for a while."

Aoshi's presence was ignored as the man walked by, heading for the stairs.

Old Misao's place?

Old Misao?

Misao couldn't be more than twenty four years old by this time. Perhaps it was not his Misao they spoke of. It had been forever since he'd seen her. Perhaps, if it was her, he should stop by to visit her. He had doubts about how welcome he would be at her house, given their last encounter even if it was the girl, woman, he remembered.

The last time they'd spoken he'd told her he thought they were better off separate. He had thought it would be a rather easy transition. He'd spent years without Misao with him before without difficulty, how hard could it be to do again?

Only, it had proven to be painful. No matter where he went, he remembered the horrified look in her eyes. She hadn't cried, but that only made it worse. He'd left the Aoiya after that to visit the Temple. It was a habit he'd broken some time before, but he was merely looking for an hour of peace or so. A temporary respite from that terribly broken horror he'd seen in her eyes and burned into his memory.

When he'd returned, Misao had been gone, and no one had seen her since. That had been nine years ago. It seemed like a lifetime. There had been efforts to locate her, but they simply hadn't the resources to do any wide searches. The Oniwabanshuu had split, broken at its edges and crumbled, falling away into the world surrounding it. It no longer formally existed. The Aoiya was all that remained.

"Hello there. Is there anything I can get for you? I believe Mika has made some tofu soup."

The inn keeper was a young woman, younger than Misao would be by now. She was married to the man who'd come in just before and had two children by him. It was information he'd picked up from staying there the last two days, easy to discern from listening to conversation. They were a cute family. It was something he'd never had, a family and something he never expected to have.

"You mentioned a woman called Misao... She lives around here?"

"Ah? Are you a friend of hers? That poor lady, I always feel so bad for her. Ever since she came here she seems to have had the worst luck... Anyway, she lives right up the road. You can't miss it, my kids will probably be out front of her house playing."

She smiled daintily at him and he stood.

"Thank you."

"You will return by evening, Sir?" she asked, drying her hands on her apron.

"I expect so. If I do not return by evening, I will come by the in morning on my way out of town to settle my bill."

She nodded. "That is fine."

He headed out, his feet carrying him where his heart was unsure. What if it was Misao? He couldn't bring himself to ask of her surname. He was afraid it would dim his hopes too greatly. The farther he walked the closer he came to children's voices and laughter. He almost expected to see her too, outside playing in a circle of children, flowers in her hair.

There was no one there, however, just the two children from the inn, a boy and a girl with wide, bright eyes. They couldn't have been more than a year apart in age. He approached the gate, causing the laughing children to become still. The house was small and traditional and looked sturdy. He raised his hand, knocking at the door. He waited and waited, and then knocked again. He wasn't giving up. He couldn't. He wanted too badly to see if it _was_ her.

"Is this woman home?" He turned, asking the curious tots. They were both staring at him, their laughter had died as they stared at him.

The girl nodded. "She's home, but she likes to sit out back and she doesn't get many visitors so she doesn't hear when someone knocks. Are you her friend?"

"Yes," he replied. He damn sure hoped he was at the right house.

"I'll take you to her, she says I can come in whenever I want to, 'cause I'm a sweetheart."

He followed the little girl inside as she slid open the door. The young boy didn't follow. The place was small and all but empty. It barely looked lived in. The colors were dull and earthy, muted. Passing by a room he noted a vase and a spray of bright orange flowers on the table. He felt his heart sag in his chest. This could not be Misao's house.

"Seta-san! I brought you a visitor!" The girl chimed. He heard the name before he saw anything and his hopes fell a notch further, but why was that name familiar to him? Seta?

"A visitor for me?" The woman's voice was smooth and sweet. It was the melodious kind of tone that belonged to a woman and not a girl. He hadn't even seen her yet and he was convinced it could not be the Misao he'd left all those years ago. He stepped into the room wondering how to word his apology to this woman he had barged in upon and abruptly _stopped_.

In a small, white painted western chair sat a lady. Her hair was dark, an inky black color, darker than slinky shadows. The short, straight strands laid over one shoulder, loose. Staring back at him was the most beautiful set of ocean green eyes he'd ever beheld in a woman's face before. He'd never seen eyes like those in any face before save for one. There was simply no doubt, no one had eyes like Misao.

"Can I help you with something?" she asked softly, blandly. There was almost nothing familiar about her at all.

Her braid was long gone, her hair shortened around her face. She looked elegant and yet completely different. A stranger in a blue kimono sat before him. Her voice was soft, without recognition of any kind. Now that he was paying attention, those lovely eyes didn't seem to be focused on him at all, just in his general direction. Almost as if she were staring at the wall behind him… or above him… or… through him. Did she not recognize him? Did she recognize him and she wished to pretend she didn't? Was it her way of saying she wanted him gone? Out of her life again?

He opened his mouth to speak. "I apologize for intruding upon you. I knocked, but no one answered."

Her eyes narrowed suddenly and her mouth turned into a frown as she thought. "What? Who are you? You sound familiar…"

Who was he?

Her eyes were not focused on him, not even then. He paused, his mind whirling not wanting to piece together the things before him. There was one conclusion to be made. She was blind.

"Shinomori Aoshi," he replied, finally deciding straight forward was best.

She stood, her expression pained. Those bright, vacant eyes dimmed and a look similar to that he'd last seen upon her face replaced it. Not horror, but deep, ugly pain. "Aoshi-sama? You're a long way from Kyoto, surely they didn't kick you out of the Aoiya?"

"Ah ha!" The girl began giggling triumphantly, throwing her arms around Misao. Aoshi had forgotten about the child, but he realized now the girl hadn't left them. She'd stood off to the side a bit as if she was afraid to leave this stranger with her friend. "I'm so glad. He _is _a friend of yours!"

Misao reached a hand down, patting her on the head.

"Yes, I haven't seen him in a very long time. Thank you for bringing him to me. Shouldn't you go play with your brother? I'm sure he's lonely without you."

The girl nodded even though Misao couldn't see it. "I'll see you later then, Seta-san! Have a pretty visit!"

He watched the girl vanish around a corner and then heard her exit the house.

"What do you want here?" she asked. "Did you actually find me or was it luck?"

"Luck," he admitted. "I heard your name at the inn."

She sat back into her chair, her hand reaching back for the arm rest to guide herself down. It was such a careful movement, so slow, graceful. Time had done beautiful things to her, despite her blindness. "How nice." That sweet voice was now tainted with bitterness, like a shiny apple with a nasty bruise. "Well, sit down if you like. No need to hover about in the doorway."

He did as she directed, taking a seat in the chair across from her at the small table. There was a pitcher of juice and some cookies there. How had Misao come to be blind? Did she cook? Did someone cook for her? Did she live alone? Was she married or had she just taken the name Seta?

Her eyes, those were more important than anything else. "What happened to your eyes?"

"Carelessness," she replied, showing no signs of saying anything else. "Someone told me once that experience was the best teacher, but sometimes it's the cruelest."

That explained nothing, but he didn't want to press. He didn't like the expression on her face. It was a look he'd seen on older people, old cynical, jaded people. "How have you been?" He asked when she remained silent. He did not like being forced to generate the conversation.

"I got married to Seta Soujiro several months after I left the Aoiya. Almost a year to the day later, he was killed and in the same attack, I was blinded. Some time after that I found out I was pregnant and then miscarried. Since then, I've been here by myself. That's pretty much it."

He hung his head.

All this time, she'd been alone. He'd been hoping she was happy, settled somewhere. He'd hoped she had moved on from him and forgotten him. Guilt that had been sparked years earlier, flared to life.

"So, what have you been doing?" she asked.

"Wandering around," he replied evasively. It wasn't untrue. He wandered. He walked from town to town, if not in search for her, in search for something. Something he'd lost, maybe something he'd thrown away.

"Why'd you leave the Aoiya?" she asked, looking puzzled. "Its not closed, is it?"

"No. There was just no reason to stay."

Whatever she thought of that, she didn't immediately say.

"Oh, well, whatever you thought was best, Aoshi-sama."

"Aoshi-sama..." he mused aloud. He stood impulsively, feeling restless. She was there, in front of him, blind and beautiful and he was lost. Overwhelmed by her sheer presence. "Do you call me that now to spite me?"

She sighed. "No. Never. Not even now."

He approached, slinking down to his knees before her chair. He scooted so close her knees touched his abdomen. He wanted her touch. He wanted to feel she was real.

"Was it worth it, Aoshi-sama, wandering around?"

He had thought Misao would be well on her own. He had thought she could be happy if she was away from him. Away from his tainted past and blood stained hands, but she had ended up this way.

A tragic life. A husband and child killed. Blind and alone.

He had led Misao to a life of unhappiness all because he couldn't give her the one thing she wanted.

"Was it worth it?" he repeated. "No, the only thing that mattered I lost a long time ago."

If she was curious, she didn't ask and he was disappointed. Her eyes were less expressive than when she hadn't been blind. She stared straight ahead, her eyes unseeing, almost lifeless, but she was beautiful and she filled him with a deep, cavernous longing.

He reached, sliding his hands around her slim waist. She was real and solid against his hands, the beautiful white brocade of her obi rough against his palms. He tightened his hands against her, finding her hip bones and he pulled her toward the edge of the chair. She shifted, trying to widen the stance of her feet to keep from falling, but he pulled her, a quick, hard yank.

She fell against this chest; her weight real and solid and he slid her to the floor, her knees bearing her weight as he pulled the chair back. The heavy wooden legs screeched in protest.

Her eyes widened and her mouth opened, those pale lips parting. He wanted to taste her, to slide his tongue into her mouth, to hear her try to speak against his lips. He held her against him, bathing himself in her warmth. There was no memory in his head to compare this to. This was new.

"Will you come home with me, Misao?"

As soon as the words left his mouth, he regretted them. Home. He _had_ no home to take her to. None to give her. Nothing to share with her.

"I am home," she replied.

He lowered his head. She was right. She had a home, but part of him rebelled. She belonged with him. Years apart had proven that. He needed her.

"Your home is with me," he answered with none of the sting her previous comment had inflicted upon him.

"Oh?" She turned her head away, her nose brushing against his clothed chest. It sent little coils of pleasure down his spine toward his groin. "That's not what you said last time, remember?"

"I see," he replied.

The look on her face turned to disappointment.

"I'm sorry," he breathed. Couldn't she tell he was sorry? What could he do to atone? He'd do it for her.

"I could guess you were sorry," she snapped. "I was looking for an admission of idiocy. That you were behaving like you always do, a big, thick ice block considering nobody's feelings except your own warped sense of logic. That's what I was looking for," she replied primly.

He tightened his arms around her allowing no leeway of space between their bodies.

How could she think of such things at a time like this? He leaned forward, down, bending her backward to slide his mouth down the column of her neck and she tensed. He wanted to eat her. He wanted to taste every inch of skin she possessed. He kissed along the exposed flesh, pressing his lips against her skin, feeling her heartbeat.

He didn't want her thinking of anything but him. Not the him of the past, not the him who'd told her they needed to walk separate paths, only the present him. He wanted her as crazed with need as he felt.

He wanted her.

It was a powerful, startling revelation to him. He'd known he needed her, but he hadn't known it could feel like this. He didn't know… didn't know he was capable of such… **lust… **for her.

He spilled her onto the floor, pulling her legs from under her and laying her back onto the tatami and crawled over her. He wanted her now. Immediately now. He wanted to peel away her tight kimono and take her right there, with those kids laughing and playing outside, there in the brilliance of the daylight. Her bright, vacant eyes stared up, her chest rose and fell and she stayed silent.

"Doesn't matter," he murmured absently, not even remembering the last thing she'd said. Nothing mattered. He pressed his knees to either side of her hips and then gently slid his hands under her, sitting her up. She said nothing, she did nothing. She was immobile beneath his touch.

He pulled at the obi, fiddling with the tie and then trying to unloop it from around her body. He pulled at the material watching as virtual yards of it coiled in his hands, more and more and more. Annoyed, he tossed it away, somewhere off toward the window. Her pale, pretty lips had opened, in surprise or something else. He could hear her breathing, or was that his own?

"What are you doing?" she asked. Her unseeing eyes were cast forward toward his chest.

Superfluous question. She _knew_ what he was doing. She had been _married_. She'd been _pregnant_. She'd done _this_ before. It sent that flame inside him roaring. She _wasn't_ a virgin and it left him feeling free.

Free to lust…

Free to explore…

"Aoshi-..."

The "-sama" was lost somewhere, he hoped forever.

She hadn't tried to stop him. She hadn't done anything but _let_ him indulge. He was going to… He was going to indulge all the way. He flicked his gaze upward, but her eyes were distant.

"Misao… " He wanted to talk to her, to tell her he wanted her to come away with him, to ask him to stay with her. He wanted to tell her he loved her, that he needed her, that he couldn't live without her, but he couldn't think straight enough to find the words.

It was beautiful; it was perfect.

He lowered himself down gently, cradling her body beneath his, shielding her from the unyielding light of the sun streaming through her open windows. "Home," he whispered softly in her ear.

They breathed against one another. "Are you home, Aoshi-sama?"

He wanted to growl at her for using that horrible "-sama", but pushed it aside yet. Later, later, he could break her of that habit. Now he needed promises.

"Aa," he answered. "Home, Misao."

She reached up, her small hands touching his chest and then sliding around his back.

She hadn't touched him. It was a lightning streak through his pleasure-hazed mind. He had been doing all the touching. He leaned back from her, to meet her eyes, but saw nothing.

Blind.

He'd forgotten, he couldn't see her expressions anymore, she had lost those.

"Forgive me?" he whispered, touching his nose gently to hers. "Please…" he pleaded softly.

"Always," she murmured. "Are you going to stay here with me? Is this your home?"

He nodded once and then lowered his head to hers, slanting his lips against hers. Had he kissed her? He couldn't remember. He poured his chaotic emotions through his lips into her and hoped, hoped she knew… understood… something.

He hoped. He had to hope she understood because he was lost. "Anywhere you are is home, Misao."

Thinking it lost, he was astonished and warmed when she smiled. The somber elegance in her face faded away abruptly into youth and beauty. "YES! That is the best thing you could've said to me EVER!"

Her arms squeezed around him and he leaned deep into her before rolling pressing his back to the floor and holding her above him.

She pressed her hands against his chest, tracing the scars on his body. "I've missed you so much. I got married and he was nice and everything but I just always thought of you… what you would feel like inside me… what it would be like if it had been your baby… although I loved her, she was precious…"

Her mouth tilted, fell, into a frown. "Let's have one," he answered. He wanted that too, he realized. To know how she would look with her belly swollen with a baby, to turn her onto her knees and make love to her from behind when she was too big and too fragile for him to slide between her legs the traditional way. The greatest mark of his possession…

"Let's have one, Misao," he said again.

She tilted her head. "Just like that?"

"Home, marriage, babies… I want them, all of them." It felt good to demand. It felt good to tell her what he wanted from her. Too long had he kept them bottled up inside.

"Are you sure?" There was a strange tenseness to her body, as if she were afraid he would change his mind. He would have to convince her, but he had time. He had plenty of time to show her she'd have to kill him to get him to ever leave her again.

"My seed is already in you, Misao. You're mine."

Her unseeing eyes widened and her lips curled a moment later into a satisfied smile. He was unable to indulge as they heard the patter of footsteps and children's voices. He silently damned those kids as he stood, pulling her onto her feet and grabbing her discarded obi material. She felt the brocade brush her hand and took it from him, stepping away.

"I'll go get dressed."

He wanted to follow her, to see her bedroom and to stake his as it own by claiming her in it. Instead, he buttoned up his clothes and waited for the children to break into the room.

They would need ground rules, he decided as the two flushed faces stared at him from the doorway.

No more free reign of the house.

* * *

When nightfall finally came, Misao and Aoshi had settled at her dining table. Unlike the back sitting room, there was no high western furniture and they were both curled down onto the floor. 

Misao had demonstrated how she cooked and Aoshi had watched each movement she made with something just short of fascination. Now, dinner over and the table cleared and the dishes washed, they had returned to silence.

"I want to return to the Aoiya to get married."

She raised her head, her fingers still lightly curled around her teacup.

"I'm sure they miss you. Let's visit."

She nodded. "It would be nice to go back," she answered. "Is Jiya okay? Have you seen him?"

"No," Aoshi answered. "Not in years."

A melancholy sadness fell over the table as they thought about the years gone by and the things lost. Maybe Okina was dead.

"Let's go soon," Misao spoke up.

"In a week or two," Aoshi agreed.

"Why so long? Shouldn't we go tomorrow?"

"No. It's not enough time." He sipped his tea waiting for her to ask why.

She did so a moment later, looking puzzled. "Enough time for what?"

"To sate ourselves in lovemaking."

Her eyes widened in a surprisingly innocent fashion. "S-sate?"

"I want you too much and too often for traveling right now. I want to have you in every room of this house, on the floor, against the wall, over this dinner table…"

Her cheeks flushed.

"Didn't your husband sate you?" He was hesitant to ask after her departed lover, but the expression on her face made him curious.

"N-no… Soujiro was… kind of… " she cleared her throat and looked away. "Traditional… night time only… in bed… under the blankets… quietly… You're making me feel bad telling you this."

His lips curled in a deep, male satisfaction. He'd break her of any habits her late husband had ingrained in her. He would take her anywhere and everywhere.

He stood, pushing his tea cup toward the center of the table. She turned her head at the sound of his movement and then up as he leaned down to take her hands away from her tea cup.

"Come on…" he gently urged.

"Where are we going?" she asked as he pulled her up from the floor.

She had shown him around earlier and he remembered where her bedroom was.

"We're going to make love in the bedroom." He pulled open the door and let her step past him inside, breathing in the scent of her that was everywhere inside this room. "Tomorrow, we'll explore the other rooms."

He watched her mill about the room, exploring carefully, holding her hands out to reach for things. Never once did she stumble or fumble in her blindness.

When the futon was laid out upon the floor and she was unfolding the blankets he came up behind her and guided her down onto her knees.

"Don't worry about that," he whispered softly in her ear.

With quick, eager hands he stripped her and laid her in her bed. Home… this was home. When he sank into her soft, yielding body and they panted one another's name, he felt the last of his ties to the past snap away.

He lived for her and inside her was home.

* * *

AN: makes me chop up my beautiful stories like this. This story is available unedited, please see my profile for the address. 


End file.
